


Thought I Was So Smart

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [26]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Feelings, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington is fractionally less obstinate than usual.





	Thought I Was So Smart

For the span of about thirty seconds, Washington considers sleeping on the floor—or perhaps not sleeping at all. He’s not nearly as exhausted as his boy, and he’s under orders from his CMO _not_ to report for duty in the morning. The restriction is no commentary on his fitness for duty, but standard procedure after _any_ away mission gone so spectacularly wrong.

He could sit at his desk and find some semblance of busywork to occupy himself. He commands a starship; there is _never_ a shortage of work to be done.

But the impulse toward decorum quickly fades. He has already allowed Alexander to stay. What point is there in being reticent _now_?

Even more persuasive is the way Hamilton looks at him once settled, snugged beneath warm but comfortable blankets and wearing newly replicated pajamas. There is something bright and desperate in Hamilton’s eyes, pleading for Washington to stay close. When Washington continues to hesitate where he stands beside the bed, there is something heartbreaking in Hamilton’s attempt to mask desperation behind a wry expression and quirked eyebrow.

And of course, there is the more selfish truth: Washington may not be physically tired, but he is still exhausted. The effort of keeping his boy at arm’s length when all he wants is to hold him close—the relief he shares at being safely aboard the Nelson—the irresistible sight of Alexander _in his bed_ as though it’s exactly where he belongs…

Despite the unflappable image Washington strives to maintain, he is not made of stone.

He is already dressed for sleep—had been on his grudging way to bed when Hamilton arrived—and so he stops arguing. He calls for lights out, the computer beeping obligingly as the room falls to imperfect darkness, and then he gingerly climbs into bed. Alexander makes an approving sound and scoots to make room, but as soon as Washington has settled beneath the covers he returns, burrowing into his space. Tucking warmly against his chest with a quiet, shivering hum.

Washington hesitates only a moment before draping an arm over his boy. He is here—he has conceded to sharing his bed for the night—what point is there in keeping artificial distance between them _now_. He is already well outside the realms of appropriate behavior. He may as well hold Alexander close and enjoy it.

“Promise you’ll never put me through anything like that again,” Hamilton demands.

“I didn’t have much say in the matter,” Washington points out reasonably.

“Promise me anyway.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Hamilton breathes a frustrated sound, but seems to subside.

A palm presses over his heart, and Washington does not protest the blatant search for reassurance. He won’t lie to his boy—won’t make impossible promises—but at least he can be _here_. Alive and breathing. Sharing heat beneath heavy blankets, letting the silence speak for him.

The silence holds longer than he expects. It’s not until Hamilton’s breathing slows and steadies that Washington realizes his boy has fallen asleep.

Washington relaxes now that Hamilton is unconscious. Backs away, not so far as to let go completely, but enough to look at him. He keeps every movement slow and soft, leery of waking the man in his arms.

His chest tightens at the sight of Alexander’s slack face, so much younger in sleep. An ache pulses behind his ribs, powerful enough that for a watchful moment Washington can’t convince his lungs to _breathe_. There is very little he would _not_ do to protect the young man in his arms.

It occurs to him—not for the first time—that this is a problem.

But it’s not a problem for tonight. Whatever the scope of his mistake in allowing Alexander to stay—whatever guilt the morning will bring for these stolen moments of intimacy—he will contend with them tomorrow.

For now Washington brushes a staticky strand of hair from Alexander’s forehead and presses a kiss to his temple. He subsides with reluctance and settles once more, head on the pillow, arm draped loosely over a bony hip, eyes drowsy but open.

He breathes. In. Out. Steady. And silently watches his boy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Reticence, Quirk, Gingerly
> 
> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me. (And have set up a **[Hamilton/Washington Community](https://whamilton.dreamwidth.org/)** over there, just a heads up to anyone who might be interested :)


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